Warlord

by Katy Winter

  The next morning, Lian did nothing unusual. He just wandered vaguely round the house asking for Myme Chlo, then when he found her outside he suggested gently to her that she should stay close to him so he could care for her.

  She was tense, disturbed, and clung to his hand, while saying in an urgent little voice, "The scholar expects me. I must go to him."

  "Go then," said Lian calmly. "But don't stay long there. Come back to me."

  The little girl's eyes were wide and frightened as she nodded her head. She didn't argue when Lian said she should be with her mother. Myme Chlo arrived at the scholar's, restless and agitated, murmuring she should be home with Mam, then when she said Lian would look after her she didn't see the unusually grim set to the scholar's mouth or the hard look in his eyes. She was only relieved when he sent her back home.

  She and Lian spent a pleasant day. They sat together on the verandah steps after late meal. Bethel had gone to practice music and the twins had disappeared. There was echoing silence about the seated pair. Normally there'd be laughter and romping on a summer's night, but there was an eerie stillness over Ortok, as if the city held her breath. Lian sensed subdued dread in the little figure next to him and he moved closer, encircling her comfortingly.

  While Myme Chlo and Lian sat, the scholar paced up and down in a small spinney. Eventually, he threw himself down on the turf, his eyes lifting every so often to the forest and beyond that to the north.

  With fading light, Lian suggested to Myme Chlo that they go for a walk in the direction of the forest and because she didn't know the southern army surrounded the city she was quite amenable. The pair walked almost unnoticed down the cobbled street, only pausing when Myme Chlo said the forest was a long way to go.

  When Lian smiled gently down and murmured, "You can trust me, Myme Chlo," she tilted her head, saw the smile, and responded immediately. With a little laugh, she nodded and began to move again.

  They reached the gate without difficulty and passed through easily, although Myme Chlo pulled back when her eyes took in the camp that sprawled not far away. Lian stooped to reassure her. At the same moment he thought he saw movement to his left, so gripped the small hand more firmly, telling the little girl again that they were going to the forest.

  He felt a strange sensation in his head. He couldn't place what it might be and straightened from speaking to Myme Chlo. He suddenly realised he moved quickly again. He vaguely wondered why he couldn't see Myme Chlo, but knew she was there because he felt her hand still gripped his. Instead of veering towards the camp where he was meant to go, he kept moving towards the forest as if compelled to go there and broke into a run because he felt an odd panic that someone chased him. He felt himself let go Myme Chlo's hand, but couldn't stop to wonder why.

  At the instant he let her go, he felt the familiar discomfort turn rapidly to pain that shot through him, jarring him to his teeth and he felt the familiar sickness cramp him. He cried out that he was trying to obey but somehow couldn't, then, frightened, heard footsteps close on him and tried to run faster. His breathing was laboured. He knew a wish to die. His face was devoid of emotion, his eyes expressive as stone.

  Lian kept moving. He was barely conscious of doing so though he knew he entered the forest a while before and someone still chased him. The track was narrow with exposed roots that threatened to trip the unwary and there was only room for one. Lian looked neither right nor left. He only slowed when he came to a sharp curve in the path. He spun to a stop, hesitated, and felt again the resurgence of pain that clung to him and battered without respite because he wasn't with Myme Chlo.

  He stumbled blindly into a small grove. His knees felt weak and his back arched uncomfortably. He trembled and sweated. Moaning softly, he wrapped his arms round himself, ignoring the fact that as he sweated so he shivered, nor did he comprehend the oddity of his shivering on such a balmy evening. With an effort he cried out to be left alone. His teeth chattered. He sank to the ground at the foot of the tallest tree, gasped for breath, and then he just stared, his teeth clenched against the pain.

  Before him, executing an elegant dive, was an estani butterfly dragon. Lian had heard of these in fables told to him in his childhood, his mother, Bruno once told him, a great believer in the fables of old. Because his father hadn't been so credulous, Lian discounted them from an early age. Now he sat watching the stuff of childish dreams while his limbs ceased to have any life of their own, unaware of the fight between hot and cold at his extremities. All he saw was the beauty and taunting of the delicate creature as it flitted deliberately in front of him. Enchanted, Lian made a feeble effort to extend his hand to the tiny dragon. It would have fitted comfortably inside a small child's cupped hand.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Lian saw movement at the edge of the copse and assumed it was whoever followed him. Lian couldn't fight, nor did he have the will to. As he faded into extended unconsciousness, he thought, as he slid away, that he saw more butterfly dragons and again he tried to put out a hand to one.

  Lban halted at the copse, wondering why Lian ran from pursuit. After watching Lian and Myme Chlo leave her home, Lban trailed them, unsure why he did, but consumed by curiosity and the feeling that there was something odd about Lian and something even more unusual about the little girl. Lban didn't gain on Lian until they were well into the forest, so was therefore considerably startled to catch a fleeting glimpse of his quarry running alone. Lban didn't pause to look for Myme Chlo because he thought he may lose sight of Lian, the young man ran so very fast. He assumed he could return to seek out the girl at his leisure, after he'd questioned Lian.

  Lban noticed that Lian unexpectedly slowed and had difficulty breathing. The young man held up hands to his chest. Lban had gained quite rapidly, but now dropped back a little, unsure of his tactics once he reached Lian and just decided to keep pace with him. Lban saw Lian arrive at the curve in the path, then falter, before he veered uncertainly into a grove on his left. Lban followed. He hid behind a slender trunk to watch.

  He saw Lian moan and shiver, his arms wrapped protectively about himself. He was surprised when Lian fell to the ground and even more so when he heard the young man cry out. Lban took a step forward. He checked in disbelief as Lian slowly dissolved in front of him.

  He sharply drew in his breath. He went to the exact spot where Lian crouched and nervously scuffed the ground in all directions. He stood uneasily. He peered through the gathering darkness, shuffling from one foot to the other, then, without hesitation he turned and began to run swiftly back towards Ortok.

  He kept an eye out for Myme Chlo, sure that she must be somewhere close. He had an instinct the Churchik warlord wanted the girl and he was sure, too, that Lian was the instrument that was to take Myme Chlo to Lodestok. Several possibilities revolved in Lban's mind - if only he could find Myme Chlo.

  ~~~

  The warlord drank steadily. Other than to make him drowsy, it generally had little effect. He could be alert on the instant if it was necessary. As he broached his third wineskin, the warlord heard a noise outside his pavilion, his head enquiringly cocked while he calmly waited. He saw Bensar at the entrance.

  "Come in, man, come in. What is toward? Is it Lian?"

  "No, my lord, but there is a man from Ortok here." Vaguely interested, Lodestok hoisted himself up onto an elbow, eyebrows now quizzically raised. He saw Bensar hesitate.

  "Speak," the warlord invited, his eyes lighting.

  "The man insists on speaking to none other than the commander - you, my lord." Lodestok gave a deep rumble and hauled himself to his feet.

  "He does, does he? Why have you not disposed of him?"

  "He seemed to think, my lord, that you might wish to speak to him."

  "Impudent too," smiled the warlord. "Go on, Bensar."

  "He has a name he suggested you might be interested in, my lord." Bensar looked warily at Lodestok, but the warlord merely looked amused.

  "Does he think so indeed?" he murmured, al
ertness touching the predatory eyes.

  He slouched over to Bensar and put a hand on his shoulder, missing the faint flinch his second gave as he turned at the same instant Lodestok did.

  The fire that earlier roused Sarssen's ire now burned steadily. A thickset young man carefully fed it occasionally with small sticks from a pile gathered next to him, then he sat back on his heels to rock gently back and forth. Lodestok observed the belligerence of the hunched shoulders and gave a smile that didn't touch his wintry eyes. The young man sensed the warlord was there and turned his head, rising easily and confidently.

  The eyes that met the warlord's were merciless and calculating, the mouth tightly drawn suggesting the hint of a sneer; the bushy brows meeting over the bridge of the nose were as ginger as the wispy beard and long locks tied back at the nape of the neck.

  Lodestok noticed the young man had a longbow. That immediately interested him, his eyes drawn to the bow that was evenly tapered from the middle, the wood a light brown the warlord didn't recognise. What he instantly acknowledged - if the bow this young man had was typical - was workmanship of a highly competent bowyer. The young man wore a quiver full of arrows that Lodestok was sure could be fitted to the bow in mere seconds.

  Lodestok paced forward until he stood very close to the visitor, towering over the stockier man who neither flinched nor stepped back.

  "Your name?" came the usual curt, harsh voice.

  "Lban," was the reply, with no courtesy title added.

  "You wished to see me."

  "Aye."

  "What about?"

  "That's a private matter," Lban said deliberately.

  Lodestok looked broodingly down at the Ortokian and this time Lban stared directly back at him. The warlord turned sharply, beckoned Lban forward and pointed to his pavilion. He thrust Lban towards it.

  "I will be with you shortly. Wait there for me," was the command. Lban took a step back and stooped to pick up his bow. "Leave it," came the order. Unaware that he'd lost the initiative, Lban obeyed. Lodestok watched the retreating figure meditatively before turning to Bensar. "Take the bow and have it thoroughly examined. Call Sarssen and get him to look at it. He is one of our best archers, is he not?"

  Bensar nodded, adding, "Possibly our best, my lord."

  The warlord entered his pavilion. He found his guest sitting cross-legged on the matting, his hands busy with an arrowhead. On Lodestok's entrance, he raised his head, and, with the same elegant ease, rose to stand quietly. Lodestok waved him to a chair, straddling the one he'd sat on when Jaden was with him.

  Folding his arms and leaning forward to rest them on the chair back, he said, "Yes, young man. You have my undivided attention."

  "What do I get for assistance?"

  The question surprised the warlord. His eyes turned to slits of ice. He sat very still.

  "A cub you are, my young friend, are you not?" he asked very gently. Had one of the warlord's men been present, he would have been very nervous indeed.

  "Just asking my dues," responded Lban, equally quietly. Lodestok's eyes flashed, and for a second Lban felt a surge of uneasiness.

  "Nobody asks dues of me." Lodestok's voice had gone very deep and velvety as he continued, "I could rip your mind apart, my boy, then use you in whatever way I may choose. Do you understand me?" Lban's response was immediate. He rose as if to leave. A voice like a whiplash cracked across the pavilion. "Sit down!" Startled, Lban stared across at the warlord and saw something in Lodestok's face that made him sit quickly. "Do you need an example of my power, boy, or is the threat sufficient? You have little to offer me." Lban saw the glance the warlord gave him from his head to his toes and he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  "That's not true." Lodestok's expression was contemptuous.

  "I will control you as I see fit, young man," he replied, "as I do all my men. If I thought you had hidden information I would tear it from your mind this minute." Lban licked his lips. "Or," continued the warlord, inexorably, "I could have you flayed for impertinence. You see, you hold no cards."

  Lban prudently said nothing as he watched the warlord cross the pavilion, refill his goblet and collapse onto the huge bed. Lodestok's smile was derisive when he said gently, "Now, boy, tell me what you know."

  Lban began his narrative, aware of the warlord's sharp inhalation over Lian's loss of the little girl. He could sense the repressed fury and hurried on. A frown furrowed Lodestok's forehead at the description of Lian being absorbed into the forest, so much so that when Lban stopped speaking, he was rigorously and repeatedly questioned. This went on for so long Lban felt his brain would become addled and he was immensely pleased when the warlord fell silent, though he continued to lounge negligently on the enormous bed that filled over half the very large, ornate pavilion. The warlord's voice was distant.

  "There is more yet to discuss, young man, but that can mostly wait. You will tell me more of a young man named Sarehl and his siblings, all of whom interest me. You will have work to do for me in connection with them, but I think you will find that agreeable, yes?" Lban nodded. "You will find Myme Chlo and will also open the gates of Ortok to me, will you not? What do you say to me, Lban? Are you willing?"

  "I am more than willing to betray Ortok to you, my lord."

  "Excellent," responded Lodestok, in an amused tone. "You will be rewarded in due course."

  Catching his breath after an experience he'd no desire to repeat, Lban stood outside the city gates that protected his home; he licked at his lips as he stared at the walls. He was uncaring of the enormity of the betrayal he was about to commit. While he waited for the gates to be opened legitimately for the last time, Lban sneered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The scholar knew more about Ortok than he cared to think about. After the southern army arrived, he spent his days alone and brooding, feeling helpless and deeply saddened. He'd sent Laras home to northern Ambros, though it took some persuading to make her go, and watching her leave, the scholar realised he'd never see her again. He'd turned abruptly away.

  He tried to make Bruno take his family north. The scholar pleaded. Bruno acceded to his wishes, but by the time he yielded to the scholar's persuasion and Melas' entreaties and they were ready to leave, it was too late. The southern army suddenly encircled Ortok and the scholar knew helpless and unutterable despair when he realised the family was trapped. Sadly he walked away from Melas, sickness in the pit of his stomach.

  He often sat on his verandah, pale and tense, not conscious of his immediate surroundings other than as they related to Myme Chlo. He knew she was to be taken to the warlord, but still had no answer why, and he was quite certain there'd be no attack on Ortok until Lian handed the little girl into Churchik keeping.

  The scholar was stressed because he was forced to wait - Myme Chlo wasn't yet in direct danger. The scholar wished she was. It would mean he could act. Over the cycles, the scholar had pieced together much about the child, far more than Bene would've expected or wanted. It left the scholar deeply perturbed and equally frustrated. While he waited, prowling restlessly up and down and dreading the inevitable for the city and a family he cared for as if they were his own, the scholar had to try to fathom what Lian's actions might be. Fretfully, he sat then walked, his pipe in his mouth and his hands jammed in his pockets.

  The army was a monstrosity that sprawled as far as the eye could see. The scholar kept well away from the centre of the city where panic could be felt and rapidly became infectious. While Lodestok camped round the city walls and waited, so the scholar stalked out his wait as well. He'd carefully sealed his mind cycles before, but hadn't fully closed down Myme Chlo, only enough for the readers and seekers to have difficulty searching for her. It was a waiting game, no more, no less.

  The scholar knew when the call came to Lian. He watched how easily the youth slipped between the guards and out the gates. The scholar stood a little back from the gates, so he could see the young man's form move towards the near outlin
e of a large pavilion that he guessed, with a sigh of relief, was Lodestok's. He didn't have long to wait because the warlord's discussion with Lian was very quick. The scholar returned home in a pensive mood. There was still much he had to do, though he felt no immediate threat to Myme Chlo.

  The next morning, the scholar awaited the arrival of the little girl, concerned when she appeared restless and disturbed, unable to settle, and uneasiness characterising her every move and expression. She mumbled she should be with Mam and added that the scholar need have no worries for her because Lian promised to look after her.

  "I trust him as much as I trust you," she'd confided only two days previously.

  Looking at her now, the scholar was grimly reminded of her words. He let her go, his mind working feverishly.

  After she disappeared, the scholar went into another room. He stood quietly and thoughtfully before he walked over to the bed to stare down at an assortment of clothes and food. He pulled on a knife belt, sheathed several differently sized knives, then stooped and began to pack food parcels into one sack and the small bundles of clothes into another. Other items were pushed into the pouches on each side of the bags. The scholar hefted those two bags onto one shoulder and slung a third across the other.

  He was dressed for the open, in winter-weight breeches and shirt, a long tunic under a heavy leather jerkin and serviceable boots and he carried two heavy woollen cloaks over one arm. He glanced at the bed again, reaching down for the cap he'd worn at Choice. He gave a final look around, then left the room, quietly closed the door behind him and strode from the house to the verandah, where he briefly paused, his eyes scanning the idyllic landscape. When he took the steps, three at a time, he didn't look back.

  He made his way, as unobtrusively as he could, to the copses at the farthest side of the common. There, he threw down all his bundles and stretched out for a long doze. It was very warm. The scholar was too heavily attired for the conditions so he removed the jerkin, folded it and placed it under his head before he relaxed, closing his eyes. He waited for Lian and Myme Chlo.